I
 Until your laughter, I could make little sense
 of the world. I stuttered mid-song, my teeth
 tiny grenades, wove smoke into my breath
 with each muttered word. I crouched 
 behind grief’s thicket, face upturned
 like hands in prayer, pondering the midnight’s blue
 the stars, a thousand glints of angels waiting
 to unbuckle their wings, crash into our schedules.
 I understood nothing of birdsong, approached each
 morning ready to be trodden, made of no consequence
 in the order of things. Until your laughter, my body 
 had the quietness of rot. But with you, 
 my life has been nothing 
 but rapture. Glee unhinged. Naked wire wound 
 about my pith, kindling me. Anurika,
 your hair, vineyard of suns. Strands pouring into 
 my dreams, like rice. You are the eviction of hunger. 
 Of all proverbs, your smile is dearest to me, 
 the only decipherable thing in my life. Warm splash 
 on the eyelids—your voice, yanking me from destruction.
 Do you remember our first kiss? How in that bright
 room, holding your chin with shaky limbs, we undid
 the hours. How you glowed like a pocket knife
 in moonlight. Had a look that said, idiot,
 what took you so long?     

You know all my diseases like a nursery rhyme
 You gather them inside you—corn seeds laid
 atop concrete—studying them. Your blood, immune
 to my contagion. To love you is to live
 in the eye of every bird, in the crevice of every
 tryst, to understand the secret things of this 
 world. You,
  last drop of oil from a funnel
 sustaining an engine. You, 
 rosary bead in every prayer. You, sunset. You, 
 sunrise. You, irresistible siesta.
 Anaesthesia in a surgical room, you… 

 II
 Recently, when asked in an interview
 what habits he had changed since moving
 in with Kim Kardashian, Kanye said, I 
 stopped being lonely. 
 We have our version of this story, 
 and in it you tell me, 
 in your love note:  

your existence is light unto the world,
my world.

Anurika, 
 I too, have been exorcised of loneliness since
 stumbling upon your face. I carry your name 
 with me into every room, and rub it against
 every surface until it gleams. Your presence
 does to me what rain does to an abandoned
 car, purifies me. You are my act of resistance.
 You are the net and the hand that casts the net.

Lately, I have found myself singing 
 your name into the silence
 until it bleeds a rapid white, until 
 it ups and leaves. 

My grief persists, but of a lighter hue. I enter birdsong
 and am lost in its rooms. Tender, the noiselessness
 of stars bursting through 
 my dreams, point me
 always, always 
 to you. 
 
 And though Life flip-flops, flicks me far
 into memories unsavoury, into psychosis
 so vast it dents my soul, you are the balm
 that eases my fall. 
  
 Even as the moon, crescent, 
 gibbous, and full is beloved 
 without remorse, I love 
  
 you in all your phases: 
 sour moods, 
 boisterous laughter.
  
 Anurika, 
 I walk the hours with you.